


What Simply Had To Happen

by cherry_catdico



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-10
Updated: 2016-10-11
Packaged: 2018-08-14 05:29:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8000275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherry_catdico/pseuds/cherry_catdico
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scorpius Malfoy had set his sights on Albus Severus months ago. </p><p>He was first, he’d railed in his thoughts when the Gryffindor Quidditch captain had started dating that Goldstein bitch. It simply could not be happening. Malfoys did not just watch such debacles. Nauseatingly Golden Couple was to be no more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Scorpius Malfoy had set his sights on Albus Severus months ago. 

He was _first_ , he’d railed in his thoughts when the Gryffindor Quidditch captain had started dating that Goldstein bitch. It simply could not be happening. Malfoys did not just _watch_ such debacles. Nauseatingly Golden Couple was to be no more. 

And so Scorpius had lived up to the ideals of Salazar Slytherin and done some sneaking around, just a little nudge here and there and perhaps a smuggled potion had been involved — but that was trivial, because he’d succeeded, as usual, and Albus Severus was, once again, single. 

Albus Severus was hard to approach. Despite Scorpius’ popularity, which he believed stemmed from his aristocratic Malfoy aura, his charming ways and his visual perfection, Albus had all those _beautiful_ lean muscles and tan skin and slim frame and messy dark hair and those green eyes going on. And he had to be a Potter. 

It wasn’t that big a deal, but then it was, he supposed. Harry Potter was a sore subject with Scorpius’ father. But Scorpius was wholly unconcerned and did not want to concern himself with the enemies of his father, because that would make his life rather complicated, and though acquitted of its crimes, the Malfoy name still drew more distrust than needed. It wasn’t like his father concerned himself much with Scorpius’ affairs, either. 

And despite McGonagall’s yearly attempts to promote inter-house unity, the hostility between certain houses had never quite disappeared, nor the bitterness of Slytherin house after the Second Wizarding War. 

Albus Severus was a Seeker. Scorpius had spent many an afternoon watching Albus fly with the Gryffindor team on the pitch, flying like he didn’t actually need the broom. Scorpius himself didn’t play Quidditch. Why waste time when one could spend it fucking someone who did? 

Of course, the fact that he was humiliatingly bad at the sport was of no matter. 

 

Maximillian Smith had the honour of being the most annoying person Scorpius knew. He was, annoyingly, a pureblood, and even more annoyingly, in Slytherin. 

There he went again, bickering with those blasted Gryffindors over Potions ingredients. Smith really was hopeless, he had no idea what the word ‘refinement’ meant. Smith was always bothering Albus, which rather oddly bothered Scorpius to no end, and he had a complex about being inferior to Albus in every way, which Scorpius looked upon with utter disdain and agreement. 

Scorpius enjoyed sixth year Potions classes, which the Slytherins shared with the Gryffindors. He usually spent it _observing_ Albus Severus. He had been most offended when Zabini had accused him of being ‘infatuated’ with the boy, when he certainly was not; Albus Severus was merely like a piece of candy Scorpius would get soon enough, and spit out when he tired of it. Zabini had shut his mouth when Scorpius threatened to never speak to him again. 

Professor Cuarinus stopped next to Scorpius’ cauldron for a look. 

“Absolutely beautiful,” he gushed. “You possess a great deal of talent, young man. Outstanding, outstanding!” Scorpius smiled genuinely at the praise. The professor walked up the classroom, _hmm_ ing and nodding at the cauldrons. 

He stopped by Albus’ station. The man stared down at the contents of the cauldron, his expression unreadable. Scorpius could tell, with his great powers of deduction, that Albus had brewed an interesting concoction. 

“Mr. Potter,” the man started — Scorpius was busy stirring clockwise but he just knew Albus winced at the use of his surname— “This object does not resemble the Draught of Living Death.” 

Scorpius set his potion to simmer and looked up to see Albus flush adorably. He wanted to strangle Smith and his sniggering. 

Albus coughed. “About that, Professor—”

Cuarinus remained unmoving, still staring at the offending ‘object’. “Albus, I do believe you are in desperate need of help. Do ask for assistance from your peers, and if all does not work out, I will provide Remedial Potions sessions. _Why_ did you choose this subject?” 

Scorpius watched Albus flush even darker. “I’ll improve.” 

Cuarinus nodded, his eyes still on Albus’ cauldron. The Gryffindors were snorting and giving Albus a thumbs up. Louis Weasley was laughing hysterically until Rose Weasley thumped his back.

Scorpius conjured a vial and put a sample of his potion in. He vanished the rest of it and started packing up. 

Albus was frowning at the lumpy solid he’d created, looking back and forth between his and the female Weasley’s cauldrons. Girl Weasley looked exasperated, like she did in all Potions lessons as Albus’ desk partner. Scorpius felt a something flutter and melt like honey inside him, and he barely managed to suppress the foolish grin that nearly got onto his face. He was Scorpius _Malfoy_. He wasn’t _foolish_.

Scorpius knew he was a genius. It wasn’t just his ego — even he knew he had enough of that — but all his teachers since his infancy had praised him for his intelligence. He was great at everything he did, and Quidditch didn’t count because he didn’t do that anymore. 

He knew how to get everyone to bend to his whims, how to get them to fall in love with him. He’d succeeded, _always_. He did have that pesky habit of forgetting the failures, but he knew how to be lovable. 

Perhaps his memory was in a phase of momentary fluctuation. The other day he’d wanted to avenge Albus, so he’d used a charm he’d created to make Smith break out in glittering green pimples spelling out ‘Sorry Al!’. He’d certainly felt better as he admired Smith’s humiliation. Albus had looked mildly horrified. 

The thought processes of Gryffindors were quite incomprehensible, Scorpius concluded. His Slytherin friends and his father, even (that was a story for another day), enjoyed such acts of revenge. 

There was that more orthodox method of going up to Albus and talking to him. Unfortunately, he had rather thoughtlessly made enemies of Rose Weasley back in first year, and the bitch was always glued to Albus. The Gryffindors were a sappy lot, and Scorpius refused to humiliate himself by portraying himself as a hapless wretch in _love_.

All those girls that swooned at his mysteriousness and unattainableness. The freedom of his nightly _pleasures_ — 

No. His reputation would never survive it. 

He needed to find a way to get Albus Severus. 

 

“ _Albus Severus Potter_ ,” thundered the voice. 

Curse it. He’d hidden in the library from her. Reluctantly embracing his failure, Al meekly looked up. “Rose?” 

His cousin Rose Weasley glared down at him the way she glared at his messy notes. “Seriously? _Remedial Potions?_ ” 

“It’s not my fault that Potions is hard!” he protested half-heartedly. 

“But it is your fault that you don’t revise,” she imitated him in an offensively whiny voice. 

“I don’t talk like—”

“Right, yes, I know, okay, fine, you don’t,” Rose cut him off. Affronted, Al closed his mouth. Rose sat down next to him and leaned closer. “But the thing is, the way you’re going you’ll fail your Potions NEWT, or Cuarinus will kick you out before then. And for Merlin’s sake, _why_ did you take Potions anyway? You don’t even need it for Transfiguration!” 

Albus looked away and chewed his lip. “Just because,” he mumbled. “And you could help me, like before, and I won’t fail?” He looked at her hopefully. 

Rose’s expression brought him down to earth. “No,” she smiled brightly. “Not anymore. You are going to do the work yourself.” 

“Potter finally does some work?” a familiar voice drawled. “An absolute miracle, don’t you agree, Weasley?” 

Al whipped his head around to see Scorpius leaning on their table a few feet away. His skin was alabaster pale, his hair platinum blonde and shining in the light, like an angel.

“What do you think you’re doing interrupting our conversation, Malfoy?” Rose asked stiffly. 

Scorpius smirked. “Obviously, Weasley, I’m interrupting your conversation.” Rose looked like she was ready to explode. His hair looked so soft, and Al wondered what it would feel like if he touched it.

“How clever you are,” Rose said sarcastically. “Now shove off. Stop being a bother. We’re studying.”

“Yes, Weasley, your life is that,” Scorpius said slowly. 

“It’s my life, so get out of it,” she replied sweetly. Al snorted into the Potions textbook he had open in front of him. Scorpius glanced at him sharply. 

“You think it’s funny, Potter, that you’re on the road to failing Potions? What, are you relying on _Daddy’s_ back up?” 

Al was shocked from his internal poetic waxing. He’d forgotten that the boy in front of him looked like an angel but acted more like a vicious weed. He startled as Rose stood up abruptly, her face twisted into a scowl. 

“I hate people like you! People who rely only on their talent and never work hard.” 

“Hey,” he snapped, “You were the brat that said _Mummy told me not to play with you_ , you ginger fool.” 

“You _arse_ —” 

“Let’s not,” Al interrupted flatly as the argument disintegrated into petty bickering. “Let’s not fight. What’s your point, Malfoy?”

Scorpius threw a triumphant grin in Rose’s direction. “Well, Potter, I need help in Transfiguration. In return I’ll teach you Potions. Didn’t Weasley just say she wouldn’t do it for you?” 

Al blinked in surprise, looking at Rose. Rose was frowning. 

“Malfoy, you don’t need help in Transfiguration,” she said flatly. 

“I _do_ ,” Scorpius stressed. “I got a Dreadful in the last assignment.” 

“You didn’t,” Rose shot him down. “You got an Outstanding. I remember Mum talking about it.” 

Scorpius’ brows pulled together in a sour expression. “I know my grades better than you do!” He and Rose glared at each other. 

Albus decided to jump in. “Whatever, it doesn’t matter,” he shrugged. “I’m shite at Potions, so Merlin help me if I don’t take your offer. It’s a win-win deal, yeah?” Rose looked at him with an expression of guilt. 

“Of course it is,” Scorpius said, somewhat triumphantly. “Friday, here, at four? I know you don’t have Quidditch practices then.” 

Rose looked at Scorpius strangely, but Albus charged on. “Sure. I’ll be here.” 

Scorpius grinned at Albus coyly, satisfied. He pushed himself off the table, gave Rose a salute and strode off. 

Rose whipped towards him. “Really, Al?” she asked, apologetic. “And I know he’s up to something — he always gets O’s, you know.” 

“He probably does know his grades better than you do, Rose,” Al said lightly, pushing away his worries for the day after. Rose frowned. 

“You know, I _would_ say you were responsible and mature about it, but I hate him so much,” she complained. Al smiled benignly, his mind other places already. 

 

“Great job, I suppose?” 

“Yes, a great job it was, Zabini!” Scorpius preened in front of the mirror. “He said he’ll be there! Does the skillfulness of my manipulation now make itself heard in your puny mind?” 

André Zabini raised one perfect eyebrow. “Right,” he said. 

“You know, to celebrate, I think I need to have a good time. Celebration.”

“Malfoy, you ‘celebrate’ every night. Thank Merlin Slytherins aren’t in dorms. And I’m right, you do have an infatuation with Potter.” The Slytherins slept in bedrooms in pairs or threes. 

Scorpius glowered. His best friend was being useless. “That’s not what I wanted to hear, and I already told you, you’re wrong.” 

“I know.” An accompanying smirk. “I don’t feel like it tonight. Go find someone else.” 

“André! Come on, I’m not bothered to go all the way down there and seduce someone, it’ll be quick, come on,” he whined. He gave André his strongest stare — he knew what he looked like, soft grey eyes, long pale lashes, lots of sexiness — and André caved. 

It was quick and to the point, satisfactory. As always, sex was enjoyable. Scorpius thought of the bitch that was his mother and sent her a mental ‘fuck you’.


	2. Chapter 2

Al touched down, jumping off gracefully with his Firebolt 3.0 in hand. The Gryffindor Quidditch practice was over and his teammates landed after him. It was a Weasley-dominated team, as it had been for the last few years: Al was the Gryffindor Seeker, Rose, Roxanne and Hugo the Chasers, and Louis the Keeper. The Beaters were the exceptions; the Jordan twins were in fifth year and hit with the passion they had in pranking. 

He hadn’t been on form in Quidditch. He knew he was wound up about the ‘Remedial Potions’ sessions that he’d managed to get himself into, the sessions with Scorpius Malfoy of all people, that he was dreading quite extremely at the moment. 

It wasn’t that he hated Scorpius Malfoy, because he barely spoke two words to Malfoy every week. Scorpius Malfoy, infamous as a fancy pureblood and the son of a known ex-Death Eater, inexplicably popular with his strangely graceful sneer. Just the customary Slytherin-Gryffindor jabs, nothing really meant to harm. But meeting with him and voluntarily spending time with him was a different matter altogether, wasn’t it? 

Even Louis had commented that he hadn’t been focused, and Louis barely noticed anything. Al was the captain. The captain needed to be focused. The first game of the season, Gryffindor against Ravenclaw, was coming up shortly and they needed to be prepared. 

But when Al sat waiting in the library for Scorpius to turn up, his emotional turmoil was not so much dread as it was blankness. He refused to think about it anymore, lest he jinx himself. 

The blond-haired boy sauntered in fashionably late, as always. Al would bet his broom that he timed the degree of his lateness. Scorpius dumped his bag unceremoniously onto the table and dropped gracefully into the seat beside Al. Al accidentally stared at him until he remembered himself and fiddled with his Potions textbook. 

Scorpius pushed his bag away and leaned on his elbows, inclining towards Al. 

“You’re here, then.” 

Al nodded. “Yeah. I said I’d be here, didn’t I?” 

He was surprised to hear Scorpius laugh, and he turned aburptly to see a sight he’d never seen before: Scorpius Malfoy smiling at him. 

“Yes, you did. That’s why I came.”

Al blinked. Was it just him, or did that sound a little strange? 

He coughed and tapped on his Potions book. “So, er, Potions. Do you mind explaining last lesson? The Draught of Living Death?” 

Expecting a jab about the ‘object’ he’d somehow brewed yesterday, he braced himself, but Scorpius only shuffled forward in his seat and started reading the page. Taken aback, he chanced a glance at the Slytherin, and it just had to be his luck that Scorpius was looking at him at that exact moment. Their eyes met. Al found himself gazing into soft grey, the Slytherin’s stare so intense that he couldn’t look away.

He coughed awkwardly. “Right. Um. So, what does the asphodel do?” 

He felt Scorpius flick his eyes back to the textbook. “Potter, you were supposed to know the function of asphodel since second year.” 

“Well, I— right, I know I’m terrible at Potions, so just tell me.” Al flushed. 

Scorpius saw Albus’ face redden. He was adorable, and he didn’t even know it. Scorpius wanted to make him even more flustered. And cute. 

He sighed resignedly. “If I must,” he said in a long-suffering tone. Albus shifted guiltily and he took advantage of the movement to snake his right arm behind Albus and rest his hand on Albus’ chair, brushing his hip slightly as he did so. He started explaining the properties and effects of asphodel as Albus Severus froze. Scorpius pretended he didn’t notice and continued to drone, paying no attention to what came out of his mouth. 

He was finishing a sentence when Albus moved to rummage in his bag and produced a piece of crumpled parchment and a quill that had seen better days. Scorpius raised an eyebrow and received a tentative grin. “Repeat that? Please?” 

Scorpius’ heart squirmed— no, it didn’t _squirm_ , it stayed as composed as it always was. He recited the function of asphodel. He returned a hesitant smile. Ever the Gryffindor, Albus couldn’t hide his expression of shock. 

“Asphodel is minced into nearly a paste because its effects are most amplified by doing so, and will create a synergy effect with narcissus. The mandrake leaves— _no_ , Potter, not _diced_ , it’s _minced”—_ he reached out to point at the offending error on Albus’ parchment and casually brushed the Gryffindor’s hand— “My apologies. How in Merlin’s name did you mishear ‘minced’ for ‘diced’? Pay attention, Potter.” 

Albus looked slightly abashed. Scorpius felt himself _flutter_ again. 

“Well, actually, perhaps the two words could be misheard… With asphodel dicing and mincing create similar effects…” he backtracked. Albus looked slightly happier.

“So the mandrake leaves are peeled and one leaf is put into the cauldron per stir at this state. Seven leaves are used as seven is the magical number that strengthens the potion. The book says to raise and lower the temperature for fifteen minutes but it’s better to just keep it on constant and add a pinch of pixie droppings. Pixie droppings are volatile enough to constantly change the temperature for you. Then—”

He was interrupted. Albus was looking at him. “Malfoy. How do you _know_ this?”

Scorpius was disconcerted by the amount of sheer admiration in those green eyes. But he couldn’t be reckless. He couldn’t very well be full of himself in front of Albus Severus and proudly proclaim himself a genius; he needed to be a humble genius. He put a nonplussed expression on his face. “Pixie droppings are volatile, so that’s how you know.” 

“No, no, no, that’s not what I meant,” Albus Severus exclaimed. “I mean how do you think of things like that?” 

“What, pixie droppings?” 

“No! Er… never mind. Let’s continue.” Albus turned his eyes on his piece of parchment again. Scorpius hid a smirk and a jiggle. 

By the time he was sure Albus had a solid understanding of the Draught of Living Death, it was slightly over six and time for dinner. They packed up, Scorpius handing Albus’ quill to him before he forgot to take it. 

“Thanks,” Albus said. He fumbled with the quill and nearly dropped it. He flushed. “For the help. It was really nice— I mean, it was nice that you were nice— _no_ , I— _ugh_.” 

Scorpius watched Albus Severus run his fingers through his messy hair, leaving it even more maddeningly messy. 

“Right, I mean that you’re a great teacher, Malfoy. And— oh shite, I forgot to help you in Transfiguration. Merlin, sorry.”

There it lay, his next opportunity. “I certainly won’t be if you assist me at a later time, Potter.” He waited for the Gryffindor to do the predictable and take the bait. 

He took it. “Then Friday next week again, same time, same place,” Albus said. “Is that fine?” he said uncertainly. 

“Alright,” Scorpius said. Albus Severus stopped fiddling and moving for a second and looked up slightly to make eye contact with Scorpius, who happened to be a couple of inches taller than average. 

“Brilliant,” Albus Severus smiled. 

“Potter. I’m going now,” Scorpius drawled. 

“Right,” Albus said. They exited the library and took opposite turns in silence. 

He’d worked not to show it, but Scorpius was secretly euphoric. He released the tension in his face and a great grin twisted his features into a position that the Hufflepuff firsties passing him, judging by their expression, were not used to seeing on him. Things had gone beautifully. He had talked as comprehensively as he could about the Draught of Living Death so Albus Severus wouldn’t have time to even think about Transfiguration. In any case he had to go get a Dreadful in one of those assignments first. And he’d gotten to see a lot of Albus Severus being endearing. Not that it mattered, of course. 

He went to his room. He found André eating his chocolates. He euphorically kicked him. 

 

After Al dumped his bag on a random armchair in the Gryffindor common room, he made his way to the Great Hall. He sat down at the Gryffindor table with the cluster of sixth years already sat there. Rose immediately turned to him. 

“How was it?” she asked. Apparently she had told everyone already because they all looked his way, eyes wide with curiosity. 

“It was okay,” Al replied. 

“Okay? With Scorpius Malfoy? Really?” Louis butted in, pale eyebrows disappearing into his hairline. He was the only Weasley without red hair, blonde like his mother instead. 

“He’s not all that bad,” Roxanne said, having overheard them. “Or so says Dominique.” 

“Dominique’s a _Slytherin_ ,” Louis complained. 

“Lily would kill you if she heard that,” Rose said dryly. 

“Lily’s also a Slytherin,” Louis shot back. 

“But seriously, it was okay,” Al said, his brows coming together. “It was so weird. He was actually being _nice_. He actually smiled at me.” 

Louis looked disturbed. 

Across him, Alice Longbottom flicked a lock of light brown hair behind her ear and huffed impatiently. “Merlin, everyone, so Scorpius can actually smile! He hasn’t done anything really, and can we stop with the stupid House feud? The way you’re going on about it, it’s like you all have a crush on him.” 

“ _What?!_ ” Louis nearly jumped up, now looking horrified. “On _Malfoy_? Never!” 

“Why?” Alice grinned at him teasingly. “He’s hot, isn’t he?” 

“ _No!_ And what do you mean, he hasn’t done anything? He’s such a git to me and Rose!” 

“Who’s got a crush on Malfoy?” A voice asked, and the group turned together to see Dominique Weasley saunter up to their table, her Slytherin tie loosened, glossy red hair falling to just above her waist. Al always wondered how long it took her to get her hair immaculate like that. 

“Louis,” Rose supplied helpfully. 

“Ah,” she whipped towards her younger brother, who sputtered and leaned away in slight trepidation. “He is quite fit, I think, very charismatic,” she said, to Alice’s smirk and the whole group’s speechlessness, “Though too much of a neat freak for me. But Louie, if you feel for him then I _certainly_ can make some _coincidences_ happen…” 

“It’s fine, would you please stop talking about Malfoy.” 

“But I wouldn’t recommend it, he seems to be retarded in the commitment department.”

Louis looked faintly green. 

Al decided to take pity on his cousin and friend, who would never hear the end of it if Dominique latched onto the idea, and change the subject. He himself also felt strangely uncomfortable with the subject of Scorpius Malfoy being with Louis. 

“Rose, did you know that you can use pixie droppings in the Draught of Living Death instead of bothering to change the temperature by yourself?”

Rose looked up, interest instantly piqued by the mention of anything she didn’t know. “No, how does that work?” 

“Apparently pixie droppings are volatile enough to use them like that,” Al replied, parroting Scorpius’ words as best as he could remember them. 

Rose leaned forward. “Where did you learn that?”

He realised that was a bad attempt at changing the topic. He hadn’t thought of how this would nearly certainly lead back to Malfoy. “Malfoy told me that today.” 

Rose narrowed her eyes. “And how does _he_ know?” 

“Figured it out by himself,” Al shrugged. Rose just looked annoyed, the way she looked whenever her books wouldn’t tell her everything. It was also the way she looked whenever Scorpius Malfoy did better than her in class, which was quite a lot of the time. 

“I swear,” she said, “He’s an utter prat, but it’s even more annoying that he can do everything without having to do any work.” Rose was firmly of the opinion that hard work should beat talent, and she had always been bitter about Scorpius Malfoy and his ingenuity. Al didn’t really blame her, since Scorpius and Rose had always had a rivalry going. 

“At least he’s not on the Quidditch team,” Louis shuddered. Al stayed quiet for most of the conversation after that. Rose’s looks of concerns didn’t escape his notice, but he didn’t feel like addressing them just yet, instead choosing to contemplate the two hours he had just spent with Malfoy. Maybe Rose would feel better about Scorpius Malfoy if Al’s Potions grades improved. 

He saw Scorpius enter the Great Hall. Al met his eyes and gave him a cautious nod, but Scorpius didn’t acknowledge it. 

 

Professor Hardy-Wood’s next assignment was about human-to-animal transfiguration, an essay in which they were to provide an explanation of the magic in the transfiguration. It was simple magical theory, but Scorpius needed to show Albus Severus just how badly he was needed so he’d feel more eager and confident in continuing their sessions. People were like that. They needed reassurance. 

It was rather difficult gauging exactly what level of ineptitude was required to obtain a Dreadful. Scorpius took Maximillian Smith’s Potions assignment, which had a glaring ‘D’ emblazoned on the top, and used it as a reference. He felt fairly sure that his Transfiguration assignment would score a Dreadful, or maybe a Poor, and that it demonstrated a solid lack of knowledge of basic Transfiguration theory. Now all he needed to do was to make some notes of a similar level. Albus Severus would never know. Scorpius smirked in satisfaction and received an odd look from Cassius Flint. 

As per his predictions, his assignment came back with a bright red ‘D’ scrawled on the top. Professor Hardy-Wood paused in front of his table, where he sat with André. She looked pointedly at him. 

“Is this a joke, Mr. Malfoy? One of my star students handing in this… _thing_ ,” she said. “Don’t do this again.” She continued on her way. 

André was boggling at his new shiny Dreadful. 

“Merlin, Scor, I didn’t know you could get those,” he whispered with a big grin. 

“It’s all part of the plan,” Scorpius replied. He felt oddly proud. 

The moment was ruined when, from the desk behind his, Smith leaned over shamelessly to look at Scorpius’ grade and sneered. “A Dreadful, Malfoy? Not so smart after all, are you?”

Scorpius stopped himself from snorting in an undignified manner. If only Smith knew.

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Clearly, I do not own Harry Potter and its characters; if I did, the original books would star Drarry.
> 
> My first attempt writing this pair. Updates will probably be few and far between, because I'm supposed to be writing my uni applications :( But I just had to procrastinate and have fun!


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